


Sweet as Candy, Smooth as Liquor

by mischiefgoddesscomplex



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Stucky - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Smut, set in the 1940s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4355096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischiefgoddesscomplex/pseuds/mischiefgoddesscomplex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky works at a candy shop on Coney Island, Steve Rogers loves to spend his days sketching on the boardwalk. The two of them become fast friends when they meet, but it's not until the next summer when they discover just how strong their feelings are for each other. While trapped. In a storage closet full of alcohol. (all-human au, set in the 1940s)!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet as Candy, Smooth as Liquor

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little summery meet-cute for you all. Which involves some smut at the end. I hope you guys enjoy, and kudos and comments are so loved and appreciated!

It’s the kind of muggy heat that makes you regret stepping outside as soon as you do. For a day in early June in New York city, it isn’t too common, but Steve Rogers had already snatched up his sketchbook and locked the door behind him, and there was no going back now. 

Besides, Coney Island isn’t too far away from his tiny Brooklyn apartment, and he much prefers spending his summer afternoons down by the pier rather than holed up inside. He’ll be sweating to death either way, so why not do it somewhere that offers a nicer view? 

It’s just past noon when he arrives, and he’s greeted by the usual roar of the roller coaster, hurtling down its wooden tracks, the screams of delighted children, and the smell of sugary sweets. The last sensation is a particular temptation for Steve — he doesn’t care much for the rides or other amusements the park has to offer, but one whiff of the taffy being stretched and pulled or the sugary cotton candy is enough to make his stomach groan loudly. 

The boardwalk isn’t too crowded today — not unless you consider about a couple thousand people to be crowded. He suspects the heat might actually be keeping people away, which is fine by him, since that leaves his favorite bench open. A nice little spot, right under some shade and looking out over the beach and ocean, the boardwalk stalls to his back. 

He pulls out his sketchbook and the pencil he’s kept tucked inside, flips to an empty page, and immediately begins chewing on the top of his pencil. Bad habit, but he doesn’t care enough to shake it. His mom always told him he’d get some sort of disease doing that.

This is what he does. Almost every day, if he can. He loves it here — surrounded by the noise and commotion, people from all walks of life all lost in their own little world, oblivious to his artistic eye. He could sketch for hours down here — in fact, sometimes he has. 

He’s just started sketching a little group of pigeons, squabbling over some spilled potato chips, when a shape blocks the sun from out of the corner of his eye. He squints, looking up at the person hovering above him, and notices a boy about his age, maybe twenty-one or a little older, staring down at him. 

“Hey, you mind if I sit here with you?” He asks, his Brooklyn accent ringing out clear and crisp. He’s got a food stall uniform on, a cheery blue-striped shirt that contrasts nicely with his tanned skin and dark eyes. “I’m on break, and this is the only bench on the walk that offers any good shade.”

“Uh, s-sure,” Steve stutters a bit, gesturing towards the end of the bench and even scooting down a little, even though there’s plenty of room for the two of them as is. He doesn’t miss how the boy’s face lights up, coming around and sitting down next to him. Steve instantly averts his gaze back down towards his sketch book, thinking that would be the end of their conversation, but he’s wrong. 

“Name’s Bucky,” The boy introduces himself, holding out his hand for Steve to shake. Steve looks up again, a polite smile on his face as he takes it in his grasp. “Bucky Barnes. Thanks for letting me sit with ya. You didn’t have to do that or nothing.” 

“My pleasure,” Steve replies, feeling a little heat creep into his cheeks at the way the words sound coming out of Bucky’s mouth. “No use in wasting perfectly good bench space.” 

“That’s what I always say,” Bucky replies with a cocked-up grin, pointing an agreeable finger at Steve. He takes a swig from the bottle of coke he’s held in his other hand before asking, “So, you gotta name?” 

“Oh, uh, Steve. Steven Rogers,” Steve replies hastily, feeling a small wave of embarrassment for not offering it up sooner. 

“So, what’ll it be…Steve or Steven?” Bucky asks for clarification, staring at him with curiosity, and then leans in on his elbows, “Or has anyone ever called you Stevie before?” 

“Can’t say I’ve ever gotten Stevie…I don’t think I’d mind it much. You can call me Steve, if you like,” Steve chuckles, finding it harder to make eye contact with the boy, despite a conflicting and overwhelming urge to just stare at him forever. His teeth are whiter than the sun when he grins at what Steve had just said, and the sight makes Steve himself smile for some reason. 

“Steve it is,” Bucky says a little more quietly with sly approval, eyeing Steve over the top of his coke bottle as he takes another sip. 

They sit together like that for a few more minutes in silence. Steve picks his sketchbook back up and attempts to continue the drawing of the pigeons, only to find that they’ve all scattered off by now. He’s taken to chewing on the top of his pencil again when he sees Bucky scoot a little closer out of the corner of his eye. 

“You an artist or somethin’?” He asks, peering over into the sketchbook on Steve’s lap. 

“Oh, this is nothing,” Steve dismisses the word artist a little flippantly. He’s not a professional or anything. It’s always just been something he does for fun — something he does to pass the time in public places. 

“Sure don’t look like nothin’,” Bucky replies sincerely, taking a look at the some of the line work Steve had done on the pigeons. “Could you draw people, too? Could you draw me?” 

The sound of hopeful optimism in Bucky’s voice combined with Steve’s penchant for never turning down a challenge or request is what causes him to give in. “How much time is left on your break?” Steve asks. 

“I’d say I’ve got about, ah…” Bucky pauses to check his wrist, completely naked and void of any kind of watch. He looks back up with a shrug, “Twenty minutes?” 

“Yeah, I can draw you,” Steve replies confidently, feeling more and more at ease around the serendipitous stranger that had decided to sit with him this afternoon. 

Bucky grins at that, leaning back into a more casual position, “How d’ya want me? Happy? Sad? I can even look intelligent…here, see?” He jokes, putting himself in a position resembling _The Thinker_ statue, with his chin resting on his fist.

Steve laughs at that, “Just…be yourself. Act like you would if I wasn’t sitting here with you.” 

“Alriiight,” Bucky draws out the word with faux-disappointment in a single breath, a little smirk etched onto his face. He eases back into the bench, takes another swig of his cola, and stares out into the beach and ocean before him. 

It doesn’t take Steve very long to get his initial features down — a strong jawline, lips that have a tendency to curve upwards at the corners. To Steve it looks like he could’ve been carved out of marble, like maybe he belongs in a museum rather than working a food stall here at Coney Island. He’s got a full head of dark brown hair, a little roused and tousled from working all morning. And his eyes — well, his eyes might be the best things about him. Dark and sparkling all at the same time, and a little smokey somehow, too. 

“Just…about….done. There.” Steve says proudly, finishing the last of the shading under Bucky’s jawline before handing it over to him. 

Bucky blinks once before the look on his face turns to pure amazement. It’s only a portrait, but Steve reckons it might be one of his best. There’s a real comfortable ease that can be sensed just by looking at the way he captured Bucky’s expression. Then again, the model himself played a pretty big part in that. Bucky’s lips part a little as he whistles low, “You did all that in twenty minutes?” 

“More like eighteen, I think,” Steve replies so casually it makes Bucky tear his eyes away from the picture to laugh at his cockiness. Steve is smiling himself, a swell of pride in his chest as he says, “You can keep it.”

“You sure?” Bucky asks, standing up from the bench with the picture still in hand. 

“I’m sure,” Steve nods his head. Usually he never gives away his art. But he wants Bucky to have it. 

“Wow…thanks. Hey, uh — hold on a second, okay?” Bucky says, holding up a finger in warning, “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back!” 

Steve stares after him curiously, watching as he darts back across the boardwalk and disappears into the crowd. When he returns a few minutes later, he’s got a few pieces of saltwater taffy, gesturing to Steve to cup his hands together as he unceremoniously bestows them upon him. 

“I ain’t got no money, but I was able to knick a few pieces of taffy from where I work,” Bucky shrugs, that hopeful expression raising his eyebrows a little, “Call it even then. Don’t want you to turn into one of those starving artist types or nothin’.” He grins a little lopsided before darting off again, “See you around, Stevie.”

As Steve pops the first piece of taffy into his mouth, the memory of Bucky floods his mind. It’s sweeter than he could’ve hoped for. 

They spend the whole summer on that bench. Without meaning too, of course. Although Steve might be lying to himself if he said he didn’t go to the same spot every day hoping to catch a glimpse of Bucky. It becomes their unspoken routine, where Bucky would come out and spend his break time with Steve. Sometimes even sharing a few pieces of taffy if he could manage it. 

Steve likes him. A lot. More than he’s liked any person before. He hadn’t had very many friends growing up, but he found that talking to Bucky felt like talking to someone who’d known him his whole life. The guy has an easy-going charm to him that Steve would often times try so hard and fail to emulate. 

And the best part is, Bucky seems to like spending time with him as much as he does. Steve secretly looks forward to Bucky’s lunch break every day, and starts planning all his visits to Coney Island around it. He’s sitting and waiting for Bucky at their usual spot one day in late August, a little earlier than normal, when a little commotion behind him causes him to take notice. 

“Stuffed animals are for babies!” A teenaged boy taunts a younger kid, ripping away his stuffed bear. He dangles it over the railing of the pier and laughs tauntingly, “You gunna cry?”

He tosses the bear to another one of his friends, who laughs and threatens the same thing, “Aww, look at him, little baby needs his stuffed bear.” 

The younger kid tries fighting back, pushing himself up onto his tiptoes to grab his toy, but he’s too short. And, brave little boy that he is, he's trying to hold back his tears. The bullies continue to laugh and toss the bear back and forth when Steve decides enough is enough.

“Hey!” He calls out sternly, walking over to the kids, “You don’t have any business taking what doesn’t belong to you. Give him back the bear.” 

“Yeah?” The teenager fires back, eyeing Steve up and down, “And you think you can tell me what to do?”

Even though there must be at least a five year age difference between them, Steve has never been much of an imposing figure. Quite the opposite, actually. A skinny, gangly frame, no real muscles to be found anywhere. It’s not surprising that the bully won’t back down, but that only urges Steve on even more. 

“I don’t have any tolerance for bullies, son,” Steve replies with a low and serious voice, throwing in the condescending _son_ for good measure. “I’m not asking for a fight, but if it comes down to it…”

This seems to piss both of the bullies right off. They fling the bear back to the poor kid, seemingly forgetting all about it now as they close in on Steve. “You sure about that?” One of the bullies asks sarcastically, roughly shoving Steve’s shoulders a little, “Seems to me like you’re outnumbered. Don’t think you’d last very long.” 

Steve swallows a little, straightening his shoulders, “Trust me. I could do this all day.”

That angers the boys even more, and one is just winding up to punch Steve when Bucky appears behind him and catches his fist on the back swing. The look in Bucky’s eyes is dark and threatening as he practically growls, “Beat it. Now.” 

With wide and afraid eyes the two bullies take off running down the pier. Steve looks up at Bucky with a half-smile, only to be met by Bucky’s cautious gaze, “You alright? They didn’t hurt you or nothing, did they?” 

“Hardly,” Steve scoffs. He rolls his eyes a little. He could have handled it. Probably. More than anything he feels a little embarrassed that Bucky had to see him like that. 

“Why’d you go pickin’ a fight with those two anyway?” Bucky asks, and the implication that they were much bigger and stronger than Steve does not go unnoticed. He feels suddenly self-conscious of his body. Especially under Bucky’s gaze. He wishes all the sudden that he were bigger.

The little boy with the teddy bear walks by, a tentative smile on his face as he catches Steve’s eye, “Thanks a lot, mister.” 

That alone warms Steve’s heart just a little, making everything worth it. He looks back at Bucky and replies with a casual, “I can’t stand bullies.” 

Bucky stares at him like he’s insane for a half a second before shaking his head, slinging his arm around his shoulder, and laughing, “You’re crazy, you know that, Steve Rogers?” 

It’s the lighthearted and endearing tone that causes Steve to blush, and he hopes Bucky doesn’t notice it as they walk back together towards their bench. It’ll be one of their last times that season.

Bucky tells him one afternoon shortly after that he has to go back to school, so he won’t be back at Coney Island until next summer. The news sort of deflates Steve a little, even though he himself has to go back to school soon. He had been under the impression they would still come here and spend the year on the boardwalk, laughing and talking.

When they finally say their goodbyes, it feels oddly abrupt. Bucky bids him a quick farewell that afternoon under the simmering August sun, having been beckoned away by his coworkers. His coworkers who are all as strong and as fit as he is. It suddenly makes Steve feel self-conscious again. Maybe Steve had been hoping too much for something more. And It’s with a pang of regret when he realizes too late that he never asked how to get into contact with Bucky, so that they could still see each other throughout the year. 

Steve’s not really sure why it motivates him so much, but he starts running that fall. Down the block. Around the neighborhood. Through Brooklyn. Building up a little muscle. He says he’s doing it for good health, but a little thought in the back of his mind keeps imagining what Bucky will say when he sees him again. 

Steve wants to impress him, secretly, deep down. The thought of it motivates him to start running farther and farther, and even to start lifting a few weights. He’ll be a new person when Bucky sees him again next summer - bigger, stronger. The thought sounds foolish in Steve’s mind, but he wants Bucky to think about him the way he thinks about Bucky every night before bed. 

Steve gets a job on the boardwalk that next summer, right in the very soda shop that Bucky works at. He’s definitely put on muscle in the nine months it’s been since they last saw each other. He’s no longer skinny Steve, all bones and no meat. Oh no. He’s actually proud of himself: his arms have filled out, his biceps fitting snugly under his cotton shirts. And when Bucky walks through the door on that first day, his jaw drops a little at the sight of him. 

“They told me we had a new hire, but I didn’t think it’d be you!” He grins, running over to where Steve stands behind the counter, genuinely happy to see him. It makes Steve’s stomach flutter with excitement. “I almost didn’t recognize you. Thought you were smaller.” 

Steve feels his cheeks heat up a little at Bucky’s teasing, looking down before making his eye contact, “It’s been a while.” 

“I’ll say,” Bucky whispers in awe with a small smile. Steve notices the way his throat bobs when he swallows and says, “Good to see ya, Steve.”

“Likewise,” Steve comments, and damn, if he hadn’t missed that smile. 

Unfortunately, their first day of work is a hectic one. Customers left and right, all crowding inside the cool little shop for a chance to relax. Steve barely has a chance to see Bucky, let alone talk to him. To make matters worse, they don’t even share a break together. 

Steve would be lying to himself if he said he isn’t disappointed. Their boss promises it won’t always be this busy, that it’s just the first big rush of the season, but still. Steve had hoped to talk to Bucky at least once. After all, it’d been almost an entire year, and he’d taken this job hoping to spend even more time with him. A shared, exasperated smile across the store is all they get all day, before they finally shut the doors that night. 

“Barnes, Rogers,” Their manager says, calling the two of them over, “I’ve got a few boxes in the back that need to be unloaded into the storage closet. Do that for me and you’re free to go.”

It’s probably the easiest task they’ve dealt with all day, considering the absurd amount of foot-traffic they’d seen in the store. They each take two heavy boxes in their arms as Bucky leads the way, calling out in a muffled voice over his shoulder, “Is it bad that this is the most relaxed I’ve felt all day?”

Steve laughs at that, “Ya know, I was just about to say the same thing.” 

They set the boxes down inside the small storage room, and Steve misses the faint click of the door shutting behind him as his mind races. He’s finally, _finally_ got a moment alone with Bucky, and already his palms are sweaty. He should ask him how he’s been. How school was. If he ever checked out that bookstore he said he’d always wanted to go to. How he felt about the Yankees winning the World Series last fall. If he’s gone anywhere new, or done anything exciting…or if he’s seeing someone…

“Uhh, Steve?” Bucky asks, one handle on the doorknob and looking back with concern, “You still have the keys on you, right?”

“I thought you grabbed them,” Steve says, not so much an accusation as a question. When Bucky shakes his head no, Steve remembers leaving them lying just outside the storage room on a counter. 

“Oh, shit,” Bucky whispers before jiggling the doorknob again. They’re locked-in. 

“Hey! Help! Anybody out there?” Bucky bangs on the door, calling out as loud as he can. A sudden jolt rushes through Steve as he joins him, pounding on the door and calling out for anyone to hear. But they were the last two employees at closing, and the chances of anyone still being in the store are slim. 

“Hey! We’re trapped in here!” Steve cries out, not yet panicking completely. He glances back at the tiny room they’re in. Considering the size of the both of them, it’s not exactly the most spacious place to be stuck in. “Let us out!” 

After thirty minutes of no avail, it’s just Steve standing against the door. 'Slumped next to' would be a more accurate way of describing it. They haven’t heard anyone pass by at all, and nobody probably will until morning, but Steve still feels an immeasurable amount of guilt for getting them stuck in this mess. He raps weakly against the door while Bucky sits hunched over in the corner across from him. 

“Help,” He yells pointlessly, without inflection. They’d tried kicking down the door, breaking the handle, even unlatching the screws. Nothing. “Please.”

“Give it up, Steve, we’re in here til the sun comes up,” Bucky says, and then adds with a humorless chuckle, “Or until the door magically decides to open the next time you ask so politely.”

That causes Steve to close his eyes, groan, and bang his head against the door.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, it was just a joke,” Bucky assures him quickly. When Steve turns around again with a sorrowful look on his face, one that is full of blame, Bucky is quick to add, “This isn’t so bad, is it? I sort of empathize with those little canned sardines now, though.” 

Steve lets out a singular breathless laugh, leaning back against the wall and letting himself slide down it until he’s sitting down across from Bucky. The space is so small that their knees bump together, and Steve tries hastily to pull his back. 

“At least we got one thing going for us,” Bucky says with a glint in his eye. He rummages around in one of the boxes they brought in until Steve hears a little _ah-ha!_ from inside the box. Bucky emerges with a bottle of vodka and a mischievous grin. 

“Bottoms up,” He says, tipping the bottle towards Steve before taking a sip. He winces a little at the taste of the alcohol before offering it to Steve. Well, if Bucky’s going down this rabbit hole, Steve’s going with him. At least now they have the one thing they didn’t all day: time to be together. The thought warms Steve a little. Or maybe that’s just the alcohol. 

“You’d think with all your new muscle you’d be able to ram the door down,” Bucky gestures at Steve after they’ve each taken a few more sips. Their knees are brushing up against each other’s now, what little personal space they had becoming quickly irrelevant. 

Steve can feel himself turning red at that. He takes another long sip of the liquor, feeling a heat creep into his cheeks as his inhibitions slowly begin to slip away, “That’s what I get for trying to impress you, huh?” He berates, more to himself than to Bucky. 

Bucky cocks his head a little, “What’s that supposed to mean?” His cheeks are glowing a deep red from the alcohol, the first few buttons on the collar of his work-shirt undone. His eyes are hooded and curious as they bore right into Steve. And Steve feels like he’ll hardly be able to resist him for another second. 

“I…I thought…” Steve begins, letting out a huff of breath at his confession, feeling self-conscious again. “I thought maybe if I gained a little muscle you might…I don’t know, Buck. It’s dumb. Forget about it.” 

Bucky sets the bottle of vodka down, the sound of the glass bottom echoing in their small space. It suddenly feels even hotter when Bucky scoots over to Steve’s side, leaning back against the wall right next to him. He looks at Steve with parted lips and asks, “You wanted to impress me?” 

Steve’s heart feels like it’s pounding in its chest. Like there’s no way Bucky can’t hear this right now, or else he’s choosing to ignore it. Steve feels like burying his head into the crook of his arm, but he keeps it held high and nods at Bucky in admission. 

“Dumb, right?” Steve chuckles humorlessly. 

“Nah,” Bucky breathes, the word floating dangerously close to Steve’s cheek. It feels warm and soft and smells just a little like liquor. “It’s not dumb. You ain’t gotta impress me though, Stevie…”

Bucky hold his gaze, and it feels like the whole world has stopped spinning for the briefest moment. Bucky’s eyes are soft and dark in the dim-lighting, and Steve can’t stop himself from looking between them and his parted lips. They’re close…so close…and then, _oh_ , Bucky’s thumb is on his chin, tilting his head just a little. 

“It doesn’t matter to me what you look like. I liked you just the way you were,” Bucky mumbles quietly. “Still do.” 

“Buck…” Steve whispers through a tight throat. Bucky’s fingers are still on his chin and his nose is brushing against his and he smells just perfect, like the ocean and sugar and…

“Oh, Stevie…” Bucky breathes, and then his lips brush against Steve’s. The faintest hint of liquor still lingers on his tongue, and Steve lets out the shakiest sigh as he tastes it. 

“You ever kissed anyone before?” Bucky mumbles quietly, their noses nuzzling against each other. 

“No,” Steve answers truthfully. “Have you?” 

“Plenty of girls…” Bucky laughs a little quietly as he lets his sentence trail off, and then he presses his lips to Steve’s once more before mumbling, “I’ve wanted to kiss you since last summer. Is that alright?” 

Steve nods his head just a bit, squeezing his eyes shut as a sweet and warm relief fills his body, “I think I’ve wanted that, too.” 

There’s a shared huff of relieved breath between them, their lips so close, and Bucky kisses him again. This time with a little more pressure, gently guiding Steve’s lips to match the rhythm of his own. Bucky’s hand slides up, cupping the side of his face. The room is filled with the sounds of their lips meeting one another’s — the gentle pop and suck as the kiss deepens. But all Steve can hear is the beating of his own heart, loud and thrumming in his ears. 

Steve’s not sure if it’s the alcohol that’s emboldening him, but this feels good. This feels so, so good. Are all kisses like this, or is this just Bucky? He decides that it doesn’t matter anyway, because Bucky is the only person he ever wants to kiss again. 

They kiss languidly, experimentally, figuring out each other’s patterns and preferences. Their tongues gently butt against each other, almost shyly at first, and then more boldly as the minutes roll on. They’ve got all night, right? 

One of Bucky’s hands traces down Steve’s side, and with a little gentle force he’s guiding Steve over to crawl on top of his lap. “Sorry, my neck was startin’ to hurt,” Bucky laughs a little breathlessly, “I can kiss you better like this.” 

There’s a kind of heat that pools low in Steve’s stomach, flipping a little at Bucky’s words and their new position. His knees bracket Bucky on either side, completely straddling his lap. But he’s right — when Steve tilts his head down to kiss him again, the angle is much, much better. His tongue slides easily into Bucky’s mouth and — _Jesus Christ_ , did Bucky just moan? The sound shoots straight to Steve’s groin.

He kisses him like that again, letting his tongue roll into Bucky’s mouth, and as if on cue Bucky mewls out again — a breathless little moan that causes Steve to pant slightly and jerk his hips involuntarily. 

“S-sorry,” Steve apologizes at the motion, feeling his cheeks grow hot as he ducks his head in shame in the crook of Bucky’s neck. Which might have been the best decision he’s ever made, because Jesus if he doesn’t smell amazing right here. 

But Bucky’s large hands only slide around Steve’s waist, spreading across the small of his back, holding him closer, “No, no, don’t apologize — that was — that’s a good thing. Oh, god, _Stevie_ …” He presses with his hands, urging him forward, “Do that again.” 

So Steve does, rolling forward, pressing his hips down onto Bucky’s, painfully aware of his own erection trapped in his trousers. They both part their lips and exhale sharply when he does. And then he does it again.

“You sure you never made out with anyone before?” Bucky teases breathlessly, his hands still guiding the small of Steve’s back against him. They both grunt when Steve thrusts down two more times. “Because you’re pretty — oh, _oh_ ….” 

Steve kisses him right there on the neck, a soft little spot right underneath his jaw. It had looked so kissable, right there next to his own lips, his for tasting. But Bucky keeps making these little noises that are driving him crazy, and he feels like he’s starting to lose his mind a little. 

“You feel so good, Steve,” Bucky whispers, his voice sounding strained. Steve’s eyes flutter close at that. He loves hearing his own name come out of Bucky’s mouth like this. Loves the way it sounds. Could listen to it on repeat forever and die a happen man. He rolls his hips, grinding their trapped erections together, gaining more friction, and then he’s the one who lets out a shaky groan. 

“Oh, _fuck_ …yes…” Bucky pants out, and his hands slide around from Steve’s back to the front of his trousers. When his fingers brush against the outline of the bulge in his pants, Steve buries his head in Bucky’s neck and lets out a helpless cry. 

“Steve, please…I gotta — can I?” Bucky asks, his voice sounding almost pained by now as his fingers fumble on his zipper. 

Steve wants him too. Wants it more than probably anything else he’s wanted so far in his life. There’s just one nervous thought holding him back. ”I’ve…I’ve never…” _had sex before_ , he wants to finish. With anyone. Boy or girl. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, we don’t have to,” Bucky promises in understanding, his breath hot in his ear as he finishes his thought in a rush. “tonight. We gotta plenty of time for that later. Just — trust me on this? It’ll feel so good…so good…” 

Steve nods his head, kissing Bucky on the neck again, and hears the sound of his pants being unzipped. Then Bucky’s got this featherlight touch on his cock, stroking it up and down, and Steve sobs out a little at how good it feels. Bucky’s mumbling something low in Steve’s ear, but all he hears is white noise. How can this feel so good?

He misses the sound of Bucky unzipping his own trousers, but then Bucky’s guiding Steve’s hand between them, this time letting Steve feel the evidence of his arousal. Both boys moan when Steve’s hand grasps the base of Bucky’s cock and strokes upwards once. And as much as Steve wants to feel good, it’s almost more important to him to make Bucky feel good, too. 

“Oh, Buck…” Steve lets out a shaky breath, lifting his head from his neck and resting his forehead against Bucky’s. Their eyes aren’t closed, just barely open. Bucky’s staring up at him from under heavy-lidded eyes, his lips parted just so, and Steve can’t help but kiss him again. 

Their hands fumble away from each other’s cocks, with Steve now bracing the wall on either side of Bucky’s head. Bucky’s hands fly back to where they were before — splayed against the small of Steve’s back, urging him to roll his hips against him again. 

“Roll your hips — just like that — right there, oh, Steve, _Stevie_ …yeah,” Bucky whines, leaning up to kiss Steve again in a hot claiming of his mouth as Steve grinds down on him. Their erections are trapped between them now, pressed and sliding against the taught planes of their abs where their shirts had rucked up a while ago. Steve feels like they’ll make a mess if they're not careful, but being careful is the last thing he cares about right now. 

The look of bliss and concentration on Bucky’s face, the way he pants out a little string of _unh_ noises every time Steve’s hips snap against his…that’s what Steve cares about right now. He goes faster, pressing down and up, feeling the hot coil of need tighten just below his navel. 

“Buck, Bucky…” Steve warns with a gasp, pulling his mouth away from him, “I’m gunna — _mm_ , oh, I’m gunna…” 

Bucky nods his head, a wild look in his eyes, “Me too…I want you to… _god_ , I fuckin’ want you to…”

It’s the way he curses that sends Steve toppling right over the edge. That word came spilling out of Bucky’s lips with rough desire and with it, Steve has to bury his head into the crook of Bucky’s neck again. He feels himself shooting all over and between them — _so much, it’s too much_ — and he can’t help himself from mumbling Bucky’s name over again over again. 

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Bucky groans low, and then Steve knows he’s coming as well, can feel the wetness of him against the hot skin of his stomach. They both are panting and gasping, minutely rocking their hips together in the wake of their orgasms, and Steve’s whole body feels numb with pleasure. 

They stay like that for a while, both dazed and out of breath. Steve can’t believe that just happened. _Loves_ that it just happened, but can’t believe it. His whole body feels numb and warm and perfect and — 

“Hey, uh, Stevie?” Bucky mumbles from above him, “Kinda gettin’ hard to breathe here.” 

“Oh!” Steve realizes, rolling off from where he still sits slumped in Bucky’s lap. He cleans himself up a little, as best he can, and Bucky does the same, before slumping down next to him and leaning against his shoulder. 

“Ya know, if you were still skinny, that wouldn’t have been a problem,” Bucky teases, and Steve grins and shoves his shoulder into him. Bucky laughs at that. 

“I’m just kiddin’,” Bucky says, turning his head to look at Steve, “I liked you when you were skinny. I like you now. Nothin’s changed.” 

The words make Steve’s heart feel warm in his chest. “You mean it?” 

Instead of answering, Bucky digs around in his trouser pockets until he pulls out a scrap of folded paper. He tosses it over onto Steve’s lap and watches him expectantly. 

“The picture I drew of you,” Steve replies quietly, unfolding the paper and realizing what it is. “You kept it?”

“All this time,” Bucky says, a grin pulling up the corner of his mouth. He’s blushing just a little, making his cheeks turn a darker shade, and it’s one of the most endearing looks Steve’s ever seen on his face. 

Steve kisses him at that, feeling brave enough now to gently pull Bucky’s chin down so their lips can meet. He can feel Bucky smiling into their kiss, which in turn causes Steve to smile. “What?” Steve whispers. 

“Just wonderin’ if we can get trapped in a storage closet every week is all,” Bucky replies with a waggle of his eyebrows. 

And then Steve kisses him again.


End file.
